


guilty

by sehnsvcht (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, a lot of emotions coming from a louis in love, and fluff!!!!!, anyways!!!!, enjoy!!!!!, fluff fluff fluff because thats all im good at, its a bit of a mess.....again, its really brief though it takes up maybe a sentence, mostly just drunken dances, theres a brief mention of the three others, what kind of AU you ask?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sehnsvcht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come on. Get up."<br/>Louis looks up to the extended hand in front of him, their fingers playfully moving. He looks further up, and meets a pair of green eyes. They're faintly glassy, but always so bright, as bright as Louis remembers them to be. Excited, playful, kind; a perfect picture of happiness and good times, they are.<br/>Louis has learned, with time, to appreciate those eyes, and the boy they belong to even more.</p><p>Or, the one where Harry wants to slow dance, and Louis agrees, obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	guilty

**Author's Note:**

> This is insane!!!! Insanity bottled up in the form of a short one shot!!!!! I have no bloody idea where this comes from, how it even came to life. I was just listening to my music on shuffle, and iTunes decided to play the perfect set of songs in the very right order at the very right time, making my thoughts go crazy, until my mind settled on one song.  
> And so, the title of this crazy thing was inspired by the song ["Guilty" by Al Bowlly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfSZARFUvnM), the very one song that made it all happen. The song is heavily mentioned and quoted in this story, so do listen to it, really, if you want to get the hang of it. I do use music a lot in my things, so.  
> This is all pure fiction. Because I do need to mention it.  
> Right, I'm probably missing a shitload of information to provide or whatnot, but I cannot think of anything. Please do leave comments, kudos, feedback; let me know if you enjoyed it!

"Come on. Get up."

Louis looks up to the extended hand in front of him, their fingers playfully moving. He looks further up, and meets a pair of green eyes. They're faintly glassy, but always so bright, as bright as Louis remembers them to be. Excited, playful, kind; a perfect picture of happiness and good times, they are.

Louis has learned, with time, to appreciate those eyes, and the boy they belong to even more.

The thing is, Louis knows there's something there inside of him for Harry to take, but he isn't sure exactly what it is. It's powerful and it's eating him from the inside, and it's warm and great and satisfying, but he can't quite put his finger on it. It's very, dangerously close to love. Maybe it is, in fact—it doesn't really matter, anyway. He doesn't need to figure it out just yet. He's happy with Harry by his side, as oblivious as the latter might be, as unfair as the world is to him.

"I am not dancing with you, Harry."

"Oh, except you _are_. Please, Lou, come _on_ ," Harry begs with a pout.

Louis tries hard not to surrender to Harry's softened pouting features, he really does. He tries not to think of how adorable he looks, or how the nickname rolled off his tongue so smoothly.

However, it's not his fault if the smile tugging at his lips just happens to be too strong for him to resist. Or maybe it's the fact that Harry's eyes got even greener, as if they knew that, eventually, Louis would give in.

Surely, Louis tells himself, the alcohol has something to do with this. There's a bottle of wine that's very close to being empty lying at their feet on the floor, and judging by the faintly fuzzy look in Harry's eyes, it's definitely getting to him. Louis can feel its effects within himself, too; he feels warm and comfortable, not just because he is the object of Harry's intense staring.

So, maybe it's the alcohol that makes him do what he does, and Louis might blame it on that later, but he's now holding onto Harry's extended hand and getting up to meet him. The living room surrounding them both exudes a serene atmosphere, dim fairy lights hanging from the ceiling. The air smells like vanilla and wine, and Harry's hand is warm under his.

It's ridiculous how picturesque their surroundings look right now, Louis thinks. It's romantic and enchanting and lovely, the spitting image of Harry, really—but maybe Louis can see a bit of himself, too, in the mess of clothes scattered a little at their feet, the discarded Vans on the couch, a notebook open on a page filled with scribbles resting on the coffee table amongst a mess of other papers and dirty napkins.

It's almost as if this place belonged to them only, if it wasn't for Niall's guitar hanging on the wall, Zayn's paintbrushes under the couch, or Liam's weights lying on the shelf.

But, tonight, this room has become their space. Just them, Louis and Harry, Harry and Louis.

Music is playing softly from the record player (Harry's, obviously), and with the smell of the air and the warmth of Harry's body so close to his, Louis knows that this moment belongs to them, and to them only.

"Thank you," Harry says when they're finally facing each other, as he reaches for Louis' other hand. The multitude of little lights above cast the tiniest shadows on Harry's features, and Louis is swooning. What a pretty boy.

"You complete idiot," Louis mutters.

Harry grins widely. "You love me," he whispers, bringing both Louis' hands behind his own neck.

 _If only you knew_. Louis says nothing back.

Instead, he links his arms together tightly around Harry's neck. It feels nice. "This feels nice."

"I _told_ you—"

"Shut up."

"—but you wouldn't listen."

"Harry, _shut up_."

If Harry smirks at that, Louis chooses to ignore it.

They start swaying softly, the music quiet and slow around them, guiding them smoothly. Harry's hands are pressed gently on each of Louis' hips. The contact feels good, and Louis is thankful, really, because it feels like without that touch, he would fly into the air and never come back. He feels so light, so happy, yet on edge—it's as if something was about to happen any moment from now, something big and grandiose in the sweet calm air of the night.

At first, Harry makes a show of moving his hips exaggeratedly, earning a giggle from Louis—although he'll never admit to it, it was simple laughter, he swears—until the younger boy settles for a slower, smoother pace. All of a sudden, everything feels heavy with overtones, words unsaid, but it's comfortable, still. Precarious, Louis thinks, but comfortable nonetheless.

They're still facing at each other, a good space still between their bodies. Louis looks up from where he was staring at Harry's chest to meet his eyes, again. He might not admit to having his breath taken away by the sight of them, but he does feel a little overwhelmed at the sight.

He needs to step back.

Instead, he gets closer.

And so he takes a step forward, tightens his hold on Harry's neck, and lays his head on his shoulder, with his mouth breathing down his neck. They can't really look at each other this way, so there's that; now, at least, Louis won't have to catch his breath whenever he brushes past Harry's gaze, since he cannot see his eyes anymore.

But maybe getting closer wasn't such a good idea, after all, not with the way his limbs seem to turn into mud, or the way his heart is now racing at crazy speeds, or simply the fact that Louis is now way too aware of Harry all around him.

Harry's body is pressed up against his (so, so close, it's driving him insane), the musky smell of his skin gets tangled with the stronger one of his cologne, the lost strands of his curly hair sometimes brush Louis' eyelashes (because he just happens to be that close to him, actually).

Their current embrace resembles a hug, Louis tries to remind himself. He has hugged Harry a thousand times before—and he's loved every single one of them, almost got lost in the moment every single time—and this is no different. It isn't.

Except it is, because it feels so much bigger, so much heavier in his chest, because Harry is nothing but soft and kind under his touch, and he radiates happiness and love and simpler ways. He keeps moving ever so softly to the sound of the music reaching them, and it's as if having Louis in his arms is all he's ever wanted.

 _The music_. Louis decides to focus his mind on that, for a while, to forget—no, not forget, but maybe, just soothe his nerves, a bit.

The song playing is old, Louis would guess maybe from the 1930's, 1940's tops. He suppresses a smirk at the thought—of course Harry would listen to romantic jazz for the sake of it. It's good, though; the cadence is smooth, the horns and woods are intonating quietly in the room from the record player in the corner. A soulful voice sings.

_Is it a sin, is it a crime?_

_Loving you, dear, like I do?_

_If it's a crime, then I'm guilty,_

_Guilty of loving you._

If it wasn't for the constant sway of Harry's body literally surrounding every inch of his own, Louis would probably be frozen in place. The song is lovely, sweet, romantic, and a complete mockery, too. Because there he is, him, Louis Tomlinson, dancing in the arms of his ever charming, lovingly endearing best friend whom he's pretty much infatuated with—if not anything more—and the bloody song they happen to be dancing to is literally mocking him by how bloody accurate and fitting it is. If Louis didn't know any better, he'd say Harry chose the song on purpose.

_Maybe I'm wrong, screaming of you,_

_Dreaming the lonely night through;_

_If it's a crime, then I'm guilty,_

_Guilty of dreaming of you._

Louis closes his eyes. Mockery or not, the song is beautiful, and he is dancing in the middle of the living room with the most ridiculously attractive company he could imagine. It's a unique sight unfolding before him, a scene coming straight out of his most tender fantasies, and so, Louis lets all his worries slide. He'll let the song haunt him later. Here, in Harry's arms, he's safe. And he'll stay safe.

It's precarious, but comfortable.

"Harry?" Louis says quietly, so very quiet. The last thing he wants is disturb the cocoon they've seemingly built for themselves in the midst of their impromptu dance.

"Mmh?"

"I like this. Thank you." He hopes his tone is as sincere as he feels.

Harry doesn't reply right away. Instead, Louis feels a hand leave his hip to now rest in his hair, his other arm now embracing Louis' waist entirely. They're so much closer now, Louis cannot deny it, and it takes his breath away, again.

"I know, Lou." A pause, and then, "You should dance with me more often." It's ridiculous how Louis can hear him smile.

"I should," he replies, with a smile dancing on his own lips. Of course Harry manages to make him smile, despite the music haunting his thoughts, despite the fact that his heart is going in overdrive, and his skin is so sensitive from everything _Harry_ , and it's as if he couldn't breathe and was drowning in air at the same time.

It's confusing and it's a complete, total mess, and Louis finds himself falling in love with the feeling wholeheartedly.

He doesn't voice any of that out loud, though.

"I love those fairy lights of yours," Louis says instead. He has no idea where he's going with his words. He's tipsy and very much enamored, and he's always liked Harry's fairy lights. They're pretty. Just like Harry himself. "I think they look pretty."

He feels Harry smile when he buries his head in Louis' hair. "They are, aren't they?" His words sound muffled, and Louis is endeared.

"They kind of look like stars."

"Mmh."

A pause, then Harry speaks again. "There's golden in your eyes, Louis."

Now that's something Louis wasn't expecting. Then again, it's not like anything that comes out of Harry's mouth ever makes sense, and it's partly why Louis is so endeared anyway.

But right now, Louis is just straight up confused. Harry's tone carried so much emotion to it, as if those simple words actually meant so much more. Simple words and heavy undertones, altogether. If it makes Louis' heart skip a beat, no one needs to know.

"No offense there, Harold, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

When Harry chuckles, it's his whole body that starts shaking, and Louis finds himself laughing along, too. "I mean, your eyes, Lou. There's like, those little golden sparkles in them, yeah?" Louis says nothing, but Harry continues. "They're like stars. Like those fairy lights, you know. It's lovely."

"You're drunk, Harry."

"Hey," Harry whines. Louis can hear the pout in his voice, again. "I'm trying to _seduce_ you, here, come on."

 _No need to._ "You're making a terrible job of it."

"Liar." The smugness in his tone is obvious.

And for the sake of it, Louis doesn't say anything to that.

They continue their rather aimless swaying in silence for a while. It's really just an excuse to stay close, Louis realizes. This whole thing, the dance, the music—the same song, on loop, over and over again—it feels like a pretext, like a "just because" and it's charming.

Everything about Harry is charming.

"Thank you," he hears Harry whisper, hiding a smile.

Apparently, he said that last bit out loud. "Oh. You're welcome." A pause. Louis thinks, chews his words, swallows them. And then, he goes, "Did you mean it?"

"What?"

"When you said that silly thing about my eyes. Golden or whatever." Louis takes a deep breath, and swallows. He has no idea what point he's trying to make, but he's gonna go for it either way. "Did you mean it?"

Somehow, despite the ridicule in his question, Harry stops their steps at once, and takes a cautious step back, and shifts his eyes intently on Louis'. They both hold their gaze, before Harry nods, a slow smile forming on his lips. "Golden in your eyes, Louis. Like stars in the strikingly clear blue sky," he adds with a smirk.

Louis would probably throw a remark and how disgustingly mushy the younger boy is acting, if it wasn't for the fact that Harry was leaning close, dangerously close, way too fucking close—

He feels a pair of soft lips press gently against his forehead, and this time, Louis proper freezes. They linger there a second too long before pulling away as lightly as they came, soon replaced by Harry's own forehead. Their noses are almost touching, they're sharing the same breath, and Louis is going fucking insane.

He's pretty sure his heart just stopped, right there, probably pumped his blood the wrong way back, too—fucked up his system entirely, before rearranging itself amongst the bombardment of thoughts raging in his brain at this precise instant. The alcohol in his system is probably making it all a bit worse, but really, at this point, Louis is as sober as he can get.

He catches his breath, and whispers, "Do that again."

Louis raises his gaze to meet with the pool of green that's become so incredibly close, and sees a glowing light, earnest and bright, staring back at him. He closes his eyes. The green is still there, marked on his eyelids, like a temporary imprint of what his thoughts look like every single day.

And then, suddenly, Louis feels the soft touch of Harry's lips again, on his left eyebrow, and then his right one; he feels the stutter of Harry's breath against his own eyelashes, before he feels another kiss on his left cheekbone, right cheekbone. Then, a pause, somewhat short but still atrociously long to Louis' liking, and then, his heart stops beating altogether, for a good few seconds.

Lips, touching the left corner of his mouth, then the right. And, suddenly, both mouths crash together, and it's a lovely chaos that erupts.

At first, it remains what it is—a touch, lingering, exploding with sparks of something that could be more, that is so close to happening, until finally, Harry moves his lips and it becomes a kiss, a real proper kiss and it's the fucking worst and it's also the very best.

It goes from a single touch to a deepening kiss in seconds, hands reaching for the other, fingertips tracing each other's skin with burning zeal, mouths and lips colliding constantly. While Louis reaches for Harry's soft curls, Harry's hands snake under his arms and rest on Louis' shoulder blades, pulling him impossibly closer, palms pressing hot and warm against soft skin. Louis can feel his lips bruising by the minute; he's almost panting against Harry's mouth, but always it seems like his face is only dreaming of inching closer to Harry's, always closer, always more and more and give and take and it goes like that over and over again.

They move like that, an incandescent being burning with passion and long-awaited mutual praise, and before he knows it, Louis' got his back pressed against the wall. Harry's hands slide down to his hips, lifting him up just the slightest bit, just enough for Louis to wrap his legs tightly around Harry's waist. Always pulling him closer.

Closer, closer, closer. Behind them, the music is still playing softly, an irony of its own in the scene.

_What can I do, what can I say?_

_After I've taken the blame?_

_You say you're through, you'll go your way;_

_But I'll always feel just the same._

Louis feels warm all over, inside and out, craving for touch as soon as it leaves him (he makes sure it doesn't, though, ever). He's breathing hard, and there's probably soft whines leaving his throat that he hopes Harry is able to hear. He bites Harry's bottom lip softly, pulling just as gently, before letting go, and opening his eyes for what seems like the first time in hours.

Harry's face is drowned in pure bliss—it's really the only way to describe it, and Louis is speechless. Lips bitten red, slightly parted, eyelids fluttering, a slight flash of green making its short appearance before Harry closes his eyes fully shut—it's already too much, really, but then, Louis hears a soft whimper escape Harry's throat shaped around his own name, and that, really, is way over the top.

"Fuck," he hears himself breath out against Harry's lips, which slowly form into a grin.

"You know," his voice says, raspy and deep, eyes still closed, "I've wanted to do this for God knows how long now."

Louis feels the corner of his mouth lift up by itself. "Same here. Bloody hell, Harry."

Harry giggles at that—straight up _giggles_ —before opening his eyes, revealing a kind touch to them, despite their blown, lustful pupils. "Golden in your eyes, Louis. And an entire universe inside of you."

This time, Louis doesn't waste his opportunity. "Oh, piss off," he chuckles, pushing at his shoulder playfully. Harry only smiles back at him, a soft, reverent smile that will probably stay stuck in Louis' head for a long, long time.

And he would just sit and stare at that smile, at those green eyes and atrociously charming dimples, if he wasn't half hard in his jeans.

"Bedroom?" he asks softly, raising an eyebrow. He knows, with Harry, that despite the implications of his simple requests, it will mean more, it will lead to more, to better, to happier, too. It's just that easy with him.

"Bedroom," Harry agrees—of course he does.

And it's all it takes, really—Harry lifts him up, and carries him to his own bedroom bridal style and ridiculous, his eyes never leaving Louis for a single second. They're both smiling like idiots, and Louis knows Harry knows, and it's perfect in its own way. Behind them, the song comes to an end for the millionth time tonight, its chords echoing behind their steps.

_Maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong,_

_Loving you, dear, like I do;_

_If it's a crime, then I'm guilty,_

_Guilty of loving you._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Note: the working title of this thing was "lighthouse," just like the song (again), ["Lighthouse" by Patrick Watson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkT43qmMZhY). Do give it a listen if you'd like, it's a great tune, and what drove me to write the first part of the story (up until the part where I mention Guilty, actually).  
> Hope you enjoyed the ride! :-)


End file.
